


That Dizzy Edge

by abriata



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-25
Updated: 2009-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 19:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abriata/pseuds/abriata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never have to talk about it. (Dom/sub establishment fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Dizzy Edge

**Author's Note:**

> D/s, but not really extreme. More of a stepping stone, really. Title from Just Like Heaven by The Cure.

He doesn't really know how this Top 13 thing will go, but that's okay; nobody else does either. They're all in it together so he figures things will work themselves out. He's got a roommate he can stand, a couple of the girls he actually _likes_ , and enough of a clue to guarantee a couple weeks' advancement if everything goes right.

The first time he notices Kris, really, is when he leans into Adam's touch. He's noticed him before, yeah, but he hasn't _noticed_ him. And now he is, because, yeah, some people are tactile, like touching and being touched, he's one of them, he knows. But Kris. Kris isn't remotely uncomfortable with any grabbing or handling. He _arches_ into it and Adam wasn't expecting to find that level of comfort or acceptance with anyone here.

Kris is pretty calm; he doesn't seem to go up or down, really, just sits and smiles, sort of, and looks almost disconnected but he's so damn _sweet_ about it that none of them could call him on it, even if they were offended, because he's a bit like a child always busy daydreaming. Which Adam thinks he probably is, because he does this kind of jumpy thing once in a while like he's just woken up. But he gets hands on him and he doesn't jump or move or ignore; he pushes back and opens up and is so responsive that Adam doesn't repress the urge to play, just a little.

He starts off small, just goes from occasional touches and hugs to decided brushes of skin and invasions of personal space. For all of it Kris only smiles and moves closer, so before Adam realizes it he's not even thinking about it anymore and he's just touching Kris all the time because he likes to and Kris likes also. With the first boundaries broken and easy exchanges established the habits shift from hugging and grabbing and playful sociability to almost proprietary dependency on nearness.

The realization it's gone too far comes from watching Kris and Katy hug and touch and kiss and he resolves, nobly, to forego any closeness for at least a week and get over himself. This fails miserably when Kris looks up at him two days later, wide-eyed and looking as if he's trying hard to be sly, and Adam just grabs him around the neck and _squeezes_. He resolves instead to just live with it.

But he's always been miserable at promises, especially to himself, so when he grabs at Kris' belt loops, dangerous familiar territory, he gives up on boundaries entirely until he gets this out of his system or Kris is forced to establish some. From the way Kris curls into him and almost clings he doesn't think the latter is going to happen until way too late, so he smiles at Kris, a flash of teeth, and thinks _your ass is mine_ while Kris laughs back at him, tractable and unsuspecting.

\---

Of course, once he's let the idea cement in his head it's never gone, so he goes almost two weeks cataloguing how Kris' eyelashes look on his cheekbones and whether he presses into hugs with his shoulders or his head first. He also notices things like the touch of his hand, how his grip is light if he wants to be subtle or is tired, how it's quick and nails digging in if he's angry or nervous, how it's fierce and tight if he's excited, and how he's never tentative unless he doesn't really want to be reaching out at all. He's never tentative with Adam, and Adam feels the first thrill building low in his stomach the day he realizes that.

He's too outgoing for subtlety so he just starts invading permissions; he slides his hands along hipbones, hugs Kris' head into his neck and breathes into his hair. Wakes him up in the mornings by kneeling over him on the edge of his bed and gets only sleepy smiles and permissive allowance in exchange. He doesn't know how obvious he'll have to get for it to click, to permit that one moment of startling clarity that will polarize Kris into his bed or out of his reach, a resolution either way.

\---

He leans over the back of the couch, grips around Kris' wrists and pulls them up, level with his shoulders. Kris' head tilts back against the couch and he looks up at Adam, mouth open and smiling as if to scold, but when Adam looks down at him, daring, he tugs sharply at his wrists and blushes, slow and shocked, and Adam doesn't let him go until the flush has spread down his neck and burned into the tips of his ears, and Kris' breathing may be hitching but neither of them knows yet what to do with that.

Adam thinks of him pressing into possessive handling and thinks _oh._

And he knows Kris notices him now, too.

\---

He's not one to assume, so he watches and studies and makes phone calls to anyone he thinks could help him. His friends all tell him to fuck off and he thinks they're all worthless if they won't help get him laid.

He expected Kris to avoid him, most likely, or confront him, less likely, but he didn't expect Kris to be able to bury it and act as if he were the same as the day before, as if _they_ were the same as the day before.

The thought that maybe they are, that maybe it's indefinable and unavoidable but was always there (that maybe _Kris_ always knew) is the second pulse along banked nerves, coiling tighter under his skin every time he breathes a noise into Kris' ear while they press together familiar and careful. It's not self-discovery, but it's a crumbling of preconceptions he wasn't aware he had and he wants Kris under him crying out more than anything in the world right now, and it's one goal that relies not at all on millions of anonymous votes.

\---

The pretense is that Kris was insulting his song; nobody looks at them twice when Adam presses his palm over Kris' mouth. It's not even that odd, he knows, but it isn't innocent or teasing when Kris' breath is coming through his nose, hot and quicker by the moment, and he's almost panting, straining to breathe quietly. He's blinking fast.

Adam knows he'd squeeze his eyes shut while getting fucked, just close them and hang on.

He doesn't think he's smiling when he slides his hand around Kris' neck and presses his thumb into the pulse point to feel rapid surges of life under his hold. Kris jerks with a deep breath and Adam swears and grips tight at his neck and doesn't move his hand when teeth bite into his palm, because Kris isn't biting to punish but because it's at his mouth and it's his natural response. He's also licking as best he can at the teeth marks and sucking, a little, and it may be the most surprising thing that heat is flushing through his body because he's found a lover that likes to have his mouth gagged.

 

He refuses to pant, though he wants to draw heavy, gasping breaths and force Kris over the nearest chair. He's just breathing deeply, slowly, though Kris is wobbling a little in his hold and would probably agree to anything Adam asked him to do right now. Adam pulls his hand away when Danny tells him he can't keep Kris from talking forever, but Kris sways at the loss of contact and Adam feels a third throb of suspended inclination along his fingers where they trail off of Kris' skin.

He loops an arm over his shoulder, pulls him in and under and close, and revels in the shudder along Kris' spine when he brushes his fingers down his back, a jump and flight of nerves tuned so tightly to him that Kris' muscles flex every time he laughs.

\---

There's still no change, really, except Kris takes a deep preemptive breath before every hint of contact between them, and Adam doesn't even pretend to suppress the thrill at Kris' unremitting awareness of him.

They still wrap around each other every time an opportunity presents itself, they still  joke and laugh and Kris still mocks a snarl at him when he pretends to mess with his guitar. But he's very careful to avoid touching Kris' wrists, and every time he brushes their hands together he smiles when Kris offers them.

\---

The pretense is a game; they've been tugging at each other's hair all day, because Allison had been caught preening and they're determined not to let her live it down.

He tugs at Kris' hair, stretching out across the table to do it while Kris is bent down over his guitar. He pulls a bit too hard when he does it, he knows, but it's not meant as a game for him and he needs to make sure Kris is aware of that. When he tugs Kris' head back and Kris' eyes focus on his, fuzzy, he's sure they're going to go too far. He forces his fingers to uncurl, but then he's hovering behind Kris and Kris is refusing to meet anyone's eyes at all.

Kris' hair looks soft and yielding but the stylists have been at them a couple of times already today and it's crisp instead. Adam ruffles at it, breaking apart chunks of product and combings, until it's a fuzzy halo around his head. Kris submits to the treatment, ducking his head down and pressing up into Adam's fingers, until Adam tangles his fingers together and twists, almost punishing. Kris' head follows the direction, drops back into Adam's hands and he's pale but his mouth is open and wet and Adam swears Kris is about to moan so he tears himself away because there's no way to explain how Kris looks right at this moment if someone notices, and he doesn't want to do that to him.

When Kris looks at him, dazed and confused and waiting, Adam grits his teeth and hates the cameras.

\---

There's not two of Kris and two of him; they're not four people, they're just two, together. He doesn't know how to explain how they can act so differently and so reliably, all the time, but they do. He doesn't know how to explain how they can get along perfectly standard for days at a time until Adam looks at Kris, touches him, just _differently_ , and Kris just switches _on_.

He doesn't bother to analyze it, to wonder, he just appreciates how amazing Kris is that he can level a scolding frown at Adam in response to one look and shutter his eyes and swallow hard at another, though Adam doesn't think his own expressions are any different at all.

\---

The pretense is nonexistent, nothing at all. He teases Kris all evening, playful and hurt when Kris retaliates cheerfully and uncommonly energetic. Kris smacks at his hands, his legs, keeps any contact between them to a minimum because they're staging a mock battle for general amusement.

Adam's last to leave the room and he takes hold of Kris' hips, levers him against the wall tight and unforgiving. He's heaving breaths against Kris' mouth but Kris is still, quiet, and Adam knows he's holding his breath. He hisses out irritation from between his teeth, tells Allison they'll be there in a moment when she calls for them from the TV room. Kris' hands come up, clutch at his shoulders, and the nails dig in dull through layers of clothing but he knows they'll leave marks.

Tonight.

Kris' eyes flick to the stairwell and to Adam, back again. Adam smiles falsely bright and steps back, keeps one hand against Kris' chest and waits until his arms drop, dangle at his sides then tuck into his pockets to curl into fists, uncertain and wary. He cocks his head, permissively, drops his hand and allows Kris to dart away, almost clumsy in his haste. Adam smiles at everyone, makes Kris' excuses and his own, walks deliberately and slowly and finally to Kris' room, door cracked and open for him.

When Kris stands up from the edge of the bed, cautious and expectant, Adam almost wants to laugh that they've never once spoken a word about this. He reaches out, touches Kris' cheek, thumb pressing against flickering eyelashes, and _loves_ that they don't have to.

\---

He starts at Kris' shirt, tugging at the buttons one by one. Kris' hands come up, awkwardly, and Adam hums low in his throat and shakes his head warningly until Kris drops his hands back down and seizes into stillness. He's shudderingly tense, wavering on locked knees, and Adam slides his palms up Kris' arms to drag his shirt off.

Kris ducks his head, stares at the carpet and their feet, and Adam presses a kiss to one sharp cheekbone and licks along the other; when Kris wrinkles his nose and laughs, breathless, Adam bites at him, gently, until he angles his face up into his mouth. He pulls away, smiles at Kris following for a kiss, presses lips to his forehead instead and delights in the lines of consternation drawn into the skin.

He presses their foreheads together, watches Kris' eyes close and then his own thumbs, tracing repeatedly, soothing, along Kris' hipbones and across his stomach, until there's no flinch of muscles. He pops open the button, murmurs a pleased noise into Kris' hair when the jeans slide easily down his legs with no underwear. He pushes at Kris' shoulders abruptly, pressing him down onto his bed. He looks up at him, indistinct and waiting, and Adam drops to his knees and spreads his legs with his shoulders, watching as Kris' hands knot in the bed sheets next to his thighs. He slides his fingers into Kris', lets him clutch at his hands, and presses down on his thighs as he licks along his cock, heavy and hot and making Kris gasp out above him.

His toes curl into the carpet when Adam sucks at the head, and Adam loosens his mouth, licks all along him until he's moaning quietly above him. He presses onto Kris' thighs, keeping him still as he offers a press of teeth and Kris jerks, keens, pulls away and pushes forward and twists in Adam's hands.

He swallows around him, hearing his own mouth make sloppy slick noises above Kris' desperate attempts at subdued groans. Adam looks up at Kris, meets his eyes as he chews at his lip and tugs repeatedly and unintentionally at his hands in Adam's grip.

Adam lets him go, presses him flat on his back onto his bed and follows him up, presses a kiss to his mouth and his neck and his hand until Kris locks fingers around his neck and draws himself up against Adam's mouth, making a soft begging noise.

A flush curls along his spine, impatience warring with accomplishment, and Adam bites at Kris' lip and sucks at his tongue, tracing his teeth and the history of his kisses through his mouth. Kris breathes frantically when he pulls away and Adam is charmed when he drags a hand to his mouth and bites at his wrist.

Kris is lovely with his mouth spread wide, Adam thinks, but he wants to hear him and skin between his teeth will muffle his cries. He grabs at Kris' wrist, presses it flat to the bed at his side and levels a look until Kris nods, swallows, spreads his hands wide and flat along the bed in promise. Adam kisses at the hollow at his hip in reward and hears him moan, low and promising.

There are plenty of toys Adam can put in his mouth that won't stop the sounds, and he can find one before Kris really misses having his teeth around something. He'll have to, he thinks, if only because now Kris is chewing at his lip again and he'll probably bite a good couple of bruises in it before the night is over.

Adam angles Kris' legs up, presses his heels into the edge of the mattress and holds them there, feeling Kris flex against his grip, testing. He laughs into his knee and Kris jerks, surprised, and Adam drops his head to lick at the smooth skin behind his balls, hearing Kris beg in short breaths and murmurs above him.

When his tongue drags across his hole, quick and rough, Kris whines in the back of his throat. Adam licks into him with long slow movements, pushing hard against Kris' legs when his hips rock back against him. Kris is making continuous soft noises above him, head lolled to the side and mouth swollen and wet against the covers as he mutters pleading encouragement.

The flush of triumph Adam feels has nothing to do with superiority when Kris says _please please please Adam_ once he pulls away. He steps back, holds Kris' eyes while he yanks off shirts and kicks away pants, sacrificing dignity for speed. Kris is loose, obedient when Adam turns him onto his stomach. He grabs for lube, presses fingers into Kris and watches him jump and keen and submit open when two slip in quick and perfunctory. Adam works with his wrist, opens him expectantly, and Kris makes a noise in the back of his throat and lifts one of his legs up onto the edge of the bed, yielding himself up and whining with it.

Adam presses kisses and teeth into his spine and lower back, feeling the jump and shudder and watching the skin redden as he rubs his jaw across. He groans against him, tugs on Kris' hand until he curls towards Adam as best he can, pillows his head on one of his arms and Adam laces fingers through his hair and holds him there while he presses in. Kris' back arches, acceptance or rebellion, and Adam presses closer and slides deeper.

Kris is still, almost calm, as he breathes slow and even and quiet, quiet, and Adam rolls his hips, once, and Kris sobs out a desperate noise and screws his eyes shut, Adam _knew_ it, and he presses back against him, needy. Adam sucks in air, holds his breath, presses his thumbs into Kris' skin on his hips and back and watches marks appear, easily discernible. Kris wriggles, as best he can spread out and lazy and waiting, waiting, and Adam leans over him, presses his wrists into the bed and works his hips in teasing circles, almost enough, until Kris is loud and unashamed and crying out for him.

He slides back, thrusts shallow and gentle and hears Kris almost frantic underneath him as he clutches at sheets and his whole body contracts, waiting. Adam presses in, doesn't stop this time, and Kris works to meet him, to please him, and Adam murmurs soft encouragement against his skin, slick and overheated.

When Kris comes it's sudden and long and noisy, and Adam pulls away, turns him over as he shakes and grabs for skin. Kris wraps around him, makes noises into his ear, says his name over and over as he strokes hands down his sides and through his hair. Adam kisses him like he'd wanted, dirty and intimate, and catches Kris' hand when he fumbles along his body. He pushes it away, smiles against his mouth and pulls up, lifts Kris' hips and delighting in the loud shocked moan as he slides back in, over-sensitized skin jumping under his fingertips as Kris scrabbles at his shoulders for purchase against _too much, too soon_.

He can move into him slicker and faster and Kris is jarring with it, short loud noises intermittent with gasps of air against sensitivity. He's bleary and open and raw, breakable under Adam, and Adam feathers hands lightly across his skin while he writhes against the coarse sheets.

Adam forces himself to hold his mouth shut when he comes to a soundtrack of Kris' hazy, pliant noises. Kris doesn't need a full outline of teeth in his shoulder, and Adam thinks he should spare him that one ache at least. He pulls away from Kris, a sticky mess on the bed, reluctant, and staggers into the bathroom for washcloths and towels.

When he comes back Kris has pushed himself up, is blinking at him blearily, and Adam doesn't stop himself from kissing him softly on the mouth and neck before tugging him into Adam's bedroom. The sheets are horribly cool, and Adam wraps around Kris, already mostly unconscious with a soft questioning murmur of his name.


End file.
